


Safer Here With You

by Alitneroon



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Getting Back Together, Hot Springs, Hurt/Comfort, Lots of that good quiet intimacy, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-19
Updated: 2019-05-19
Packaged: 2020-03-08 00:02:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,409
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18883993
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Alitneroon/pseuds/Alitneroon
Summary: After the Battle of the Bastards, Tormund finds Jon.





	Safer Here With You

**Author's Note:**

> This can be read as taking place in the same universe as Come Home to Roost. You definitely don't need to read that one to understand it, though!

Tormund walked through Winterfell towards the godswood. He was told that Jon was there, and that he didn’t wish to be disturbed. Well, that kind of thing wasn’t about to stop Tormund Giantsbane. Besides, if anyone was allowed to disturb Jon, it was him, whether the guards knew that or not.

Around him people huddled quietly in corners, recovering from the battle. The worst of the wounded were being cared for in the great hall, but there wasn’t enough room for everyone. They started at him as he walked by with shellshocked eyes, and he avoided their gaze. His own nose still throbbed, an occasional trickle of blood bothering him, but that was the worst of it.

The godswood appeared in the distance, two guards standing by the gate. They straightened as Tormund approached, clear hostility in their eyes. “You cannot enter. Jon wishes to be alone,” said the one on the left.

“He will want to see me,” Tormund replied.

“We were given orders not to let anyone in. That includes you.”

Tormund was all too aware that they still saw him as a wildling, a threat, and not someone to have a discussion with. He drew himself up to his full height. “Go ask him, if you don’t believe me.”

They looked at each other, hesitant. “I’m not sure–“

“Go,” Tormund rumbled, and glared. He knew the effect he had on people, and it could be quite useful sometimes, as the guard looked nervously at his partner, before giving a curt nod and turning around.

Tormund looked around. He imagined what Winterfell might have looked like before. It’s recent occupants had made quite a mess of the place – straw was strewn about, empty, broken crates lying across the courtyard, abandoned buildings showing clear signs of wear. The godswood stood alone in its beauty. It didn’t need to be maintained by people. At least the northerners had some sense, putting things like this in the middle of their castles, rather than cutting themselves off from the woods entirely. He could see the weirwood rising up out of the trees, the stunning red of it’s leaves a reminder that they weren’t totally cut off from the world. Still, it bothered him that it was walled off and guarded.

The guard came back. Tormund reveled in the look of defeat on his face as he approached. None of these stubborn fuckers could keep him from getting to Jon.

“He says you can go.” The guard regarded him suspicion as he passed. Tormund smiled with as much sarcasm as he could manage. “He’s in the hot springs.” The guard pointed. “That way.”

 _Ah_. That would explain the look. He knew Jon wanted to keep anything between them under wraps, because of his status and the fact that Tormund was a wildling more than that they were both men. Oh well – if Jon had approved of Tormund coming to see him, it was his fault that the guards knew. If he understood correctly, they were officially sworn to secrecy, and such a tale coming from the mouths of a few guards didn’t hold too much credibility.

The sounds of the people in winterfell faded as he walked through he godswood to the far end. Finally he saw the trees open up in front of him. There was a small pool, steam rising from the surface. Jon sat near the edge facing away from him, still, quiet. Tormund paused for a moment to take in the sight. His curls trailed in the water at the nape of his neck, and he hadn’t noticed Tormund yet. He could walk quite quietly when he wanted to.

After a few moments he stepped into the clearing and walked up behind Jon, letting his steps fall heavily on the ground.

Jon turned his head just barely to the side, where he could see Tormund in the corner of his eye. "I hope they didn't give you too much trouble."

"No, I dealt with them." Tormund laughed. "Don't give me that look. They're still in one piece. Physically, anyway."

Jon smiled for a second before it fell off his face. He sunk down lower in the water. "Well, are you going to join me or not?"

Tormund stripped wordlessly and sunk into the water beside Jon, a few feet away. It had been frustrating being kept from Jon this whole time. After hardhome he'd had hope, but then they’d been so busy, and Jon had withdrawn after he’d died, afraid of this. Tormund had tried his best to respect that. He'd kept his distance up until the night before the battle, and while that had settled him again, given him hope again, it wasn’t enough. He'd wait. This was worth waiting for.

Jon sighed, keeping his eyes forward, and slumped. He was clearly exhausted from the battle, even with only minor injuries. “How are you doing?” He asked.

“Well enough,” Tormund answered. “My nose is still bothering me, but one of your maesters patched it up. He says he kept it from healing crooked, which I suppose is a good thing.”

“Yes, it is,” Jon said firmly.

“What about you?” Tormund asked. “It can’t be easy for you.”

“I’m fine. Don’t worry about me.”

“Jon, it’s me. You don’t have to lie.”

Jon paused for a long moment before relenting. “I’m sore, and I think I cracked a rib, but I’ll survive. That’s not the hard part,” He finished, his voice breaking.

“You did as well as you could.”

“It wasn’t good enough.” He shook his head. “I couldn’t save Rickon.”

            “It’s not your fault.” Tormund shifted, not closer yet, but just so he was facing Jon. “It’s ok. You’ve survived worse. You’ll survive this.”

Jon looked away rather than responding. He reached to grab a cloth sitting on the side of the pool and winced, still for a few moments, letting the pain subside. “Can I ask a favor?” He said.

“Of course.” Tormund answered.

Jon passed him the cloth. “I can’t reach my back or shoulders – not comfortably, anyway.”

Tormund smiled ever so slightly and gestured for Jon to turn around. He wet the cloth and ran it over Jon’s shoulders, quietly admiring the muscles beneath his skin. A bruise appeared as he wiped away the grime, and he took special care to stay clear of it.

““I hadn’t seen Rickon in five years,” Jon whispered, just loud enough that Tormund caught it.

“I’m sorry,” Tormund said.

 

“I thought I might get to see him again. I never even got to speak to him. The first time I see my own brother since I left for the wall, and he’s dying.”

Tormund carefully put his hand on Jon’s shoulder, leaving it there for a moment instead of answering, letting Jon speak at his own pace.

 “The last time I saw him he was just a little kid. He wouldn’t even say goodbye to me properly. He hid in the godswood with his wolf instead. He was as wild as it was. Not even Winterfell is the same. It wasn’t always this dirty and tattered. When I left it was still beautiful, and filled with family. Even the godswood is wilder than it used to be, but it’s as close as I could get.”

“You’ve taken it back, though. You can make it beautiful again,” Tormund said.

“You’re right, and I’m glad. You deserve some credit for that. Thank you. You don’t have to be here.”

“You know I’ll stay by you, after what you did for us. It’s all I can do to repay you.”

Jon nodded and let his head fall towards his chest. Tormund gently pushed his hair to the side to scrub the back of his neck. He’d let it down to wash it, and his wet curls tangled with each other, dripping rivulets of water down his back. It had gotten longer since Tormund had last seen it down – it reached his shoulders now.  Tormund scrubbed at his back with the cloth, watching Jon relax under his touch.

He realized suddenly that for all their previous intimacy he'd never seen Jon this close. It was too cold before to do anything but fumbling in the dark, and the only time he'd really seen Jon naked was as a cold corpse, pale and scarred with crescents of red. He'd never been able to touch him, to hold him close like this.

He couldn't resist running his bare fingers down the center of his back, and sucked in a shallow breath when Jon shivered under his touch. He let the fingers fall down to Jon's side where they rested, stuck in this one breath, not knowing where they might go from here.

Jon answered the unspoken question. Anticipation rose in Tormund's throat as he leaned back and into his hand, ever so slightly, and Tormund splayed his fingers out so they were laying on his side, almost touching Jon’s stomach.

He finished washing Jon's back, letting the warm water run down over his shoulders, and slid his hand further forward, until he felt the tip of his middle finger against Jon's navel. Jon brought his own hand up from where it rested at his side and lay it over Tormund's, just barley pressing his fingers into the gaps between Tormund's own.

"Are you sure?" Tormund whispered. Every muscle in his body, every instinct he had, was pushing him to wrap his arms around Jon and pull him back to rest against his chest. Normally he would make a move, but nothing had ever been this complicated before. It was the price he paid, he supposed, for becoming so infatuated with a southerner. With any one of the free folk they'd be fucking by now. Life had been simpler north of the wall.

Jon answered by nodding, and then pulled away. Tormund was about to chase him before he turned around and brought his free hand to rest against Tormund's chest. "I–"

"Shut up," Tormund said, unable to hold back any more. "I've waited far too long for this."

He leaned forward and kissed Jon, and Jon responded in kind, clenching the hand against Tormund's chest into a fist as it was trapped between them. He carefully moved forward to straddle Tormund, his thighs smooth underneath the warm water as Tormund growled low in his throat and pulled Jon closer, careful not to be too rough.

Jon broke away, panting, as they made contact. He rested his forehead against Tormund's, taking a moment. Their lives had been in such jeopardy lately, this felt like the first time they had time to take a breath, time to even consider the future. Tormund understood the need to relish it, but he didn't want to wait. He rolled his hips and Jon whimpered, dropping his head down again. Tormund moved to kiss him again and Jon drew back. "Wait," He said, and took a few breaths, steadying himself.

"What?" Tormund asked.

"It's just... I don't want this to be another false start. We've had too many."

"Neither do I." Tormund answered. He hadn't wanted any of them to be false starts; it was just life that kept getting in the way – or, in one case, death. "It won't be."

"You can't promise that. Neither of us can."

"Fine. If there's anything I can do about, it won't be," He amended. "Now can I please, finally get my hands on you?"

Jon smirked. "They already are."

"Oh, be quiet," Tormund said. He kissed Jon again and this time Jon was all in, wrapping his hand around Tormund's back and shifting forward until he was properly sitting in his lap. He pushed Tormund back until he was leaning against the rocks.

Jon started to roll his hips, leaving Tormund gasping and shocked. This was so different from before. Perhaps all their trials had emboldened Jon. He wasn't timid anymore, not like he used to be.

Tormund was perfectly happy to let him go, practically writhing on his lap. He clutched at his lower back to guide him as he broke for breath and buried his face in Tormund's shoulder. Finally he stilled, just holding back by the sound of his breathing. Tormund gently kissed the spot where Jon's shoulder met his neck. He was almost painfully hard now.

"We should go find a bed," He managed to choke out. It would be far more comfortable, he knew. It was nice enough for Jon, but there was a sharp rock digging into his back, and there didn't look to be a smooth spot in the pool.

Jon didn't answer for a moment, almost visibly shrinking down into the warmth of the pool. "Fine," He finally conceded. "You go back first. Meet me outside."

"Are you really so concerned about what your guards think? Besides, they already know we're back here together. It'll probably look _more_ suspicious if we leave separately."

Jon sighed and pushed himself back. "You're right, as usual." He shivered and he stood up in the water, and Tormund took a moment to admire the way it cascaded over his body, scars and all. He took a step up the rocks and pulled himself out of the pool.

Tormund followed, wandering over to where he'd dropped his clothes on the ground. Jon had his hung up on the branches of a tree. For as long as he'd spent living rough, in one way or another, he still would never reach the level that Tormund and the other free folk saw as normal. He'd ceased to care about his clothing long ago. He supposed that, no matter how he might feel about it, Jon had some obligation now to maintain appearances at the very least.

Tormund dried off with his undershirt before putting it on. The cold hit him now – even inside Winterfell, with the steam rising from the pool, the chill winds of winter were rising. Being wet didn't help. He stepped over to Jon, still getting dressed and hugged him from behind, as much for warmth as to tease him. "Hurry up."

Jon smiled. There was a hint of mischievousness in it. Tormund loved it. It was so refreshing to see Jon able to let go of himself for a few moments, to forget about what had happened before for a few moments.

He followed Jon through the godswood back to the entrance. They walked side by side, careful not to betray anything, to act like allies discussing something relevant. Tormund counted himself lucky that he was wearing so many layers of clothing.

Outside the gate was even worse, dozens of eyes turned towards them. Tormund dropped back a step, looking like he was following Jon somewhere, at a loss for words to fake a different conversation.

Jon took a turn suddenly into the main castle and up a back flight of stairs. He led Tormund to a plainly decorated room, only a few hangings on the walls to keep the heat in, and a bed covered in furs. "Is this your old room?" He asked.

"It is." Jon didn't elaborate any further, instead opting to pull Tormund towards the bed and down. He sat next to him and took off his boots, letting them fall wherever, before staring on his shirt. Tormund followed suit. He watched Jon take his clothes off in anticipation, even though he'd only just seen him stripped down moments before. The room was chillier than the pool, though certainly warmer than it was outside. They’d be warm enough in a moment, anyway.

Jon stripped of all his clothing, and Tormund, lagging because of the extra layers, joined him a few moments after. Jon lay on the bed and splayed his legs ever so slightly. The furs were soft as Tormund lay over him. Holding himself propped on his elbows he kissed Jon. He wasn’t certain where to go from here, what Jon wanted to do.

The question was answered for him when Jon spit into his hand and reached down between his legs, preparing himself. Tormund began to understand – Jon wanted to be able to not think for a while, to just do this. Tormund could give that to him.

He nearly whimpered as Jon wrapped his legs around Tormund. "Please," Jon whispered. Tormund obeyed, thrusting inside, slowly.

He stopped for a moment to take in the sight below him, Jon's curls spread out over the pillow, loose and tangled, his dark eyes wide, the pupils only barley distinguishable in the half light. He couldn't believe he was finally here, that this was finally real.

It was Jon who finally moved, flicking his hips ever so slightly, his breath catching in his throat. Tormund buried his face in Jon's neck and started to move in earnest. He nearly cried at how tight Jon was.

 _Thank god for the cold, driving us in here,_ he thought, as he sucked a spot into Jon's collarbone. He moved slowly to keep from hurting Jon's rib, and to draw things out. No one knew what tomorrow might bring. He was going to enjoy this while he had it.

They edged ever closer together. Tormund reached between them to grab Jon's dick and pulled him over the edge. A few more thrusts and Tormund was gone too, swearing quietly. He collapsed onto the other side of the bed to catch his breath and then curled back up to thrown an arm protectively over Jon, sharing his warmth.

Jon reached down to pull one of the furs over them. "Gods, I wanted that," He said quietly, not quite meeting Tormund's eyes.

"You made me wait long enough," Tormund teased, but there was only warmth behind it. He couldn't help but melt around Jon, his usual wild nature subdued by this pretty little crow.

Jon rolled his eyes. He turned away from Tormund and shifted back into his arms. “Thank you.”

Tormund didn’t ask. “Of course,” He said instead.

A comfortable silence stretched out between them for a long moment. "I wish you could be there later," Jon said finally. “When we bury Rickon.”

"I don't think I can."

"I know. I'm not going to try and explain this to Sansa, especially since she hasn't known you for long. It'll be just us, it wouldn't make sense for you to come. But I wish you could."

"Shh," Tormund soothed. He held Jon closer. "Don't think about that right now."

"What else is there to think about?" Jon said. There was a hint of anxiety in his voice. Tormund could feel the fears of the future already creeping into the room. He wanted to keep them at bay as long as he could.

"We're both alive, and here. How about that?" He said. "Your sister too. Even Arya and Bran could be out there somewhere. You have Winterfell back. You have me," He finished, dropping a kiss on Jon's shoulder. Jon sighed in response.

"If you want to sleep, I'll watch," Tormund said. "I'll wake you in time."

"Please." Jon replied, his voice already soft and heavy with exhaustion. "Thank you."

Tormund quietly held Jon as he relaxed and fell asleep. He slept fitfully, shifting, as though his dreams bothered him – but that was only natural. Tormund felt his own eyes start to close and had to leave the bed to stay awake, as much as it pained him. Instead he sat by the window, cracking it open just a bit and enjoying the cold breeze.

From this window he had a view of the Winterfell courtyard, and he imagined what it was like for Jon, watching his family out of this window. Jon hadn’t talked about his childhood much, and Tormund still didn’t understand the way southerners did things, but he knew enough to know it was complicated. By the time he had met Jon he had changed so much, but where he came from was still important. He turned back and watched Jon’s chest rise and fall.

Tormund was struck by an overwhelming urge to protect him. _His little crow._ Out there in the world, Jon might be the hero, but in here he was just Jon, and Tormund was just Tormund, and the two of them knew who they were together. He’d have to wake him up and let him leave eventually, but for now, he was safe here. Tormund would guard him as long as he could.

**Author's Note:**

> Find me on tumblr @tormvnd! My askbox and messages are always open!


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